


little lights shining in the dark

by queerly_it_is



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (not such a good thing in Night Vale), Fake Episode, Flower Crowns, M/M, and a message from the Mayor, community health tips, features: this week's horoscopes, the radio station pledge drive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/pseuds/queerly_it_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All living things will someday die. All dead things will someday glow red and emit a beautiful song. No one will be alive to hear it” -- Welcome to Night Vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	little lights shining in the dark

“All living things will someday die. All dead things will someday glow red and emit a beautiful song. No one will be alive to hear it” -- Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed by now, there is an epidemic of mass proportions currently sweeping through our little town. It began in an undetermined hour of the night, in those predawn moments of government-mandated and biologically-inescapable unconsciousness when anything is possible and much of it is unreal.

It’s hard to say how long this plague will last, what precipitated it, or if it will ever end. Perhaps we as a community are being punished for the crimes of one, one who must surely be hunted, discovered, and brought, struggling and protesting before us. Perhaps we are the subjects of a cruel and aimless experiment, and it will only end when we turn on one another, taking up blunt objects and sharp implements, lighting our homes with the whites of our eyes, and rampaging until the streets beneath our bare feet are slick with blood.

But whatever the cause, and whatever the reason, there is no escaping it, Night Vale. We have all seen the effects, either looking back from our reflections in the bathroom mirror, or blinking at us from across the pillow in those we chose to fall into the depths of dark and already retreating silence alongside. Some of you have seen it in your pets, your children, or the spirits that crouch in the shadowy corners of your homes.

Yes, I am speaking of the horrifying disease that has caused every one of us, without exception, to wake up wearing crowns made out of various types of flowers.

Now I realise there has already been some pretty understandable panic about this, especially in light of the Magnolia Fiasco of ‘86, which claimed the lives and souls of many Night Vale residents, but it is _vitally_ important that you do _not_ attempt to remove, prune, rearrange, or otherwise interfere with your flower crown, or the crowns of those around you.

According to the Sheriff’s Secret Police, all of them looking a little downtrodden about how their uniforms clashed with the vivid blossoms adorning their leather balaclavas, several people who have tried to remove the flowers have become, “Some sort of shrubbery, or maybe a bush? It’s not exactly our area of expertise, y’know? But they’re definitely plants now, we’re sure about that! As sure as we can be about anything!”

So again, listeners, do not interact with your flower crowns! Like a lot of things in life, and most things in unlife, there’s a slightly smaller chance of being harmed in grotesque and unimaginable ways if you just pretend it’s not happening. Ignorance is bliss, and bliss is never being warped into meaty and glistening flora.

Several attempts to bring the Whispering Forest in for questioning were made, but we’re really not sure what happened to the people the Sheriff’s Secret Police sent in there. Presumably they found new meaning and new lives as part of the gently menacing and extremely complimentary entity that is the Whispering Forest. Good for them!

Teddy Williams, owner of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, has also been detained by the Sheriff’s Secret Police, on the grounds that, “Anyone who uses the word ‘flower’ in a professional capacity is a potential suspect. _Everyone_ is a potential suspect _all_ the time. In fact, where were _you_ last night anyway?”

Like you, I have complete confidence in the shadowy goings-on of our government, and the ways that they infringe upon our rights in order to keep us safe. I’m sure they’ll have this whole thing resolved in no time. And if not, well, that’s no reason to criticise. No reason at all.

And now a word from our sponsor:

You know you’re going to die, right? And the odds are that it will happen sooner than you think, at a moment when your back is turned and your guard is down. It may have happened already, just now in fact, in which case, our condolences. But if the constant fear of your inevitable and no doubt imminent demise has faded to a comfortable background hum that you can cope with, barring the occasional bout of horrendous weeping, then it’s time to think about funerary arrangements:

Do you want to be buried in a casket? Cremated on a pyre built meticulously by your loved ones? Maybe you want to have your chopped-up bones scattered at the climactic moment of a ritualistic chant. Or maybe you’d like to be melted down and compacted into a semi-precious stone, to be worn by your closest friend or relative, until the pain of your passing eases and you end up at the bottom of a jewellery box.

Regardless of your preferred type of send off, and no matter how few pieces of you the authorities and curious neighbour children are able to retrieve, the Night Vale Funeral Home promises to capitalise on your decomposition as meaningfully as possible.

The Night Vale Funeral Home: Because everything gets eaten by something eventually! No exceptions. No exceptions.

Listeners, I have some thrilling news. Carlos – the effervescent and eternally beautiful scientist, who I am most certainly dating, even if the specific terms have yet to be finalised – came into the studio to see me during the break. Isn’t that just so sweet?

He wanted me to tell you all something about the flower crowns, but to be perfectly honest, listeners, his hair was catching the light in such a way that I was a little distracted, complimented magnificently as his locks are by the circle of blossoms and artfully-shaped leaves around his shapely cranium, and so I missed most of what he was saying. I’m sure it was fascinating, and in his delectable voice, somewhat awkwardly arousing given the urgency indicated by the rapid motions of his strong-yet-delicate hands, and the fear sweat glistening on his touchable, caressable skin. He gripped my shoulder, stared deeply into my eyes, and said something romantic about herbicide before fleeing the building.

I just thought I’d share that. It’s important that people know what a great guy, and by extension, partner, Carlos is. So few people make time in their busy work schedules for their soon-to-be-significant others like that. Sucks to be everyone who isn’t me!

Oh, also I paid a visit to the men’s room just now, and even Khoshekh has a little flower crown! Okay, the petals are blackened and giving off wisps of acrid smoke, and he was meowing a lot so I don’t know if he’s really enjoying it, by _oh my god_ , listeners, it is the cutest thing! I’ll get Intern Chelsea to put some pictures on Facebook. Ugh, he’s just _adorable_.

Time now for community health tips:

Do you trust your doctor? Do you trust yourself? Are you sick of being sick? The Greater Night Vale Medical Community has unveiled its new Do-It-Yourself Surgery Package, citing the high mortality rate of medical practitioners, the unpleasantness of dealing with patients, and the growing sense that they may be playing god in a process of natural selection, where the strong survive and the weak are eaten by the strong.

“Honestly, it would be a lot easier if people just operated on themselves at home,” said Suzanne Thurgood, publicity director for the Medical Board. She continued, “It’s not like we have a lot of surgeons or blood mages on staff to begin with, and it would certainly save time in the waiting room.”

When asked what sort of tools we ordinary citizens would need to perform surgery on ourselves, or with the proper consent, one another, Thurgood said, “I don’t know, whatever you’ve been using to cut meat with should work just fine. Just wipe the dirty utensils on your pant legs and you’ll be good to go. Put down a towel or some newspaper or something to help soak up the blood.” She then set fire to a nearby cactus, and danced around it while covering her naked body in a ceremonial paste.

This has been community health tips!

It’s pledge drive time once again at our community radio station, and like various illegal militias, rogue governments, and organ harvesting rings, I know you want to do your part in supporting our programming. We do all this for you, Night Vale! This year, in place of blood or spinal fluid or whatever cash you have to hand, we’re asking that you donate a small amount of your intangible spirit. Just come on down, take a seat, and let us take some of your soul off your hands, through your ribs, or out of your mouth. You’ll get a tour of our station from Intern Jerry, a cookie iced with our logo, and a signed copy of our station’s special edition calendar. Every little bit helps!

Listeners, as you’ve no doubt noticed, the flower crowns are gone. Moments ago, they began to emit a high droning noise, detaching themselves from our scalps and the bony caves beneath them, and left our narrow perceptions forever with a sound I have never heard before and cannot begin to describe with limited human vocal chords.

This unpleasant altering of bodily structure has been followed by whooping, cheering, singing, and in the case of the Night Vale Botanical and Wildlife Hobbyist Association, heavy drinking interspersed with wretched sobbing. President of the Association, Marianne Gregano, who changed her name several months ago to Marigold Geranium, gurgling with Jack Daniel’s, said, “We just wanted something to talk about that wasn’t cacti or scrub grass. We wanted so many things. For a time, there was hope.” She said a few other things too, but, well, by that time it was mostly just elongated vowels and mashed-together consonants, and I was simply trying not to breathe the fumes.

The entirety of the BWHA has since walked hand-in-hand into one of our town’s many conveniently situated and readily accessible singularities. We at Night Vale Radio wish them the very best in whatever spaghettified and unknowable universe they now occupy.

In light of this development, I think it’s best that we go, bare-headed and disappointed, suffused with botanical ennui and smelling faintly of pollen, to the weather.

Listeners, I received another visit from Carlos, this time minus the petals in his magnificent hair, but no less stunning for it. He says several people still exist in the forms of potted plants as a result of the flower crown pestilence, and that without the strange effects of the crowns to maintain them, they are slowly being dragged away by wolves, or carried off by hawks.

Like you and like Carlos, dear listeners, I fear that without the Botanical and Wildlife Hobbyist Association, many of our recreational gardens and flowerbeds and even our town’s signature and unmatched levels of beautiful cacti may all be at risk. We can only hope that the authorities take measures to defend our biodiversity. We can also hope that Teddy Williams will soon be returned from the abandoned mineshaft outside of town, and that the bowling alley will again be open for business.

So while I discuss, uh, important matters relating to compelling science with our community’s favourite and most attractive intellectual, here are this week’s horoscopes:

Virgo: It’s time to apologise to all the people you’ve wronged. They’re waiting outside. They’re getting restless. They’re looking through the window right now and humming in a low, sinuous tone. Better hurry.

Libra: Your recent vacation has left you feeling dissatisfied with the drab and dreary life you have been forced to return to, and you will spend the remainder of your days wondering just how many ways you could end it all.

Scorpio: Get in your car. Drive quickly. Don’t look back. They are coming.

Sagittarius: You will find it hard to know _anything_ today. Best leave important chores requiring the use of your name, social security number, blood type, marital status, and food allergies until next week.

Capricorn: Feeling down? Feeling up? Feeling slightly to the left and diagonally stretched across dimensions? Soon you will feel nothing, nothing at all, nothing ever again, and you will be unable to feel glad about it.

Aquarius: Your dentist appointment has been cancelled, as your dentist has been violently recalled to the Tooth Palace for rearrangement. The details of your replacement appointment will be left in a husky shadow voice that will creep upon you when you least expect it.

Pisces: It’s all downhill from here. Don’t ask what’s waiting at the bottom of the hill. Don’t.

Aries: You are eligible for a free organ scrubbing down at the car wash!

Taurus: Don’t concern yourself with the throbbing, pulsating mass you found growing tendrils out of your bathmat this morning. It’s probably nothing.

Gemini: You will spend today burying an antique mirror out in the desert. Remember to take some earmuffs. You won’t like what the mirror has to say.

Cancer: Look, we know you didn’t mean to do it, and we know you feel awful, just… just don’t do it again, and try to move on with your life.

Leo: If you left your house this morning and found a thrumming scythe drawn in bone dust on the sidewalk, then you’ve won an all-expense-paid trip! Follow the wisdom of the scythe to find out where your trip will take you, and when you will be permitted to return.

This has been this week’s horoscopes!

A quick notice: Mayer Pamela Winchell has announced, at her fourteenth impromptu press conference this week, that you should all stop complaining about the singularities. She leaned threateningly over her podium at reporters, forcing the words out from between her teeth, stressing over and over again that, “Singularities. Are. Good for you.” Mayor Winchell demonstrated her point by hurling a live armadillo into a singularity that had helpfully up on the stage as she was talking. “See?” she cried, gesturing at the various constituent parts of the armadillo – most of which made it out of the singularity just fine, I must say – “Much better!” There were several follow-up questions, almost all of which were stuttered as the reporter’s mouths contorted with terror and revulsion. The Mayor concluded the press conference by jabbing select reporters in the stomach with a harpoon, enunciating once again: “Stop complaining, before the Mayor _gives_ you something to complain about!”

Faithful listeners, if you have been emotionally impacted by recent events, just remember that your emotions aren’t real, and in all likelihood neither are you. Try to hold onto the knowledge that everything ends; our fears; our pains; our nightmares. Do your best to look a troubled world in its many arachnid eyes and stare it down until it blinks first. Gain strength from the darkness inside you; let it be a shelter for the light that others envy. And most of all, care for the people around you, especially those who have been mangled into dripping, fleshy shrubbery.

Stay tuned next for two scintillating hours of Big Rocks Hitting Smaller Rocks. This week’s special: Granite Chips of Varying Sharpness.

Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Commonplace Books, is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffry Cramer. This is a fake episode and is in no way affiliated with the actual podcast.
> 
> The weather was All The Little Lights, by Passenger. Title from same. Summary quote borrowed from the Night Vale Radio twitter.
> 
> Today’s proverb: Ask your doctor why he keeps glancing at your shadow and sweating. Ask your doctor why he’s backing away. Reach out to your doctor as he screams.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] little lights shining in the dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/955749) by [Readbyanalise010](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readbyanalise010/pseuds/Readbyanalise010)




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